


Introduction To Kryptonian Geology

by Sam4265



Category: DCU, Smallville
Genre: M/M, Red Kryptonite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10132277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam4265/pseuds/Sam4265
Summary: Martha finds Clark's class ring in a box in the back of his closet. Little does she know that the ring is made of red kryptonite. She gives Clark the ring right before Clark leaves to go celebrate Bruce's birthday.





	

"Clark, honey, I found it!" Martha Kent called as she made her way quickly down the stairs. She was holding a small cardboard box that was practically over flowing with Clark's high school memorabilia. Clark grinned as she set it down on the table.

"Thanks, Ma," he said. He shifted through the box, looking for the illusive photo of him and Bruce playing baseball on the Kent family farm. Clark found the folded edge of the wrinkled old photograph, and pulled it out of the box. He looked down at it and smiled. Bruce was wearing a suit minus the jacket, and Clark was dressed in jeans an a flannel. The picture had been taken right as Clark wound up for the pitch, his hand still in the air. Bruce's face was pensive; his dark hair whipping to the side in the wind, and his brow wrinkled in concentration. He looked ready to hit a home run. He had, of course. Bruce was good at everything he did, and though he hadn't hit it quite as far as Clark, Martha had still been impressed enough to give him an extra large piece of pie for dinner that night.

Clark sat back in the chair and grinned at the picture.

"This is exactly what I was looking for, this'll make a great birthday present for Bruce." Clark had long since given up trying to buy Bruce things. He didn't appreciate it when Clark spent his measly wage on him, and he almost always already owned the the item, or something better than it, anyway. He'd kept everything Clark had given him though. Deep down he was incredibly sentimental, and Clark knew that better than most. 

Martha nodded, "Of course, honey, any time. I told you I could find it. Oh! Look what else I found!" She pulled something small out of the box, and Clark looked up at her, puzzled. 

"What is it?" He asked, holding out his hand. Martha dropped the item in his hand before replying. It was a class ring,  _his_ class ring, his red kryptonite class ring. The ring had barely touched his fingers when Clark felt it begin to take affect. It was like the tension was uncoiling from his shoulders, his walls were coming down. It felt like he could finally  _breathe_. A grin tugged at his lips as power surged through him and all his inhibitions gave way.

"It's your class ring, I can't believe you left it in some filthy box in the back of your closet. These are some wonderful memories, Clark, you should keep better track of them," Martha said. Clark slipped the ring on his right hand and looked up.

"You should quit nagging me," he snapped. He stood suddenly, ignoring Martha's shocked expression.

"Excuse me?" She asked, incredulously.

"I should go," Clark said, picking up his jacket. "I'm going to be late to Bruce's party if I don't hurry." 

He walked out the door without another word, leaving his very confused mother behind.

\---

Clark flew through the air, the red kryptonite giving him new confidence and esteem. He felt big, and powerful, like he could do anything. He thought of Bruce, small and human and weak. Clark could do anything to him. Clark thought of all the times he'd almost made a move. All the times he'd almost said something, and shook his head. He'd been such a fool. He wanted Bruce, so the solution was simple, he'd just have to take Bruce. Clark doubted Bruce would have any argument with that, he was Superman after all. He was the best of the best, the most incredible being in existence. Bruce would be lucky to have him. Clark laughed as he flew, he was so elated by the idea of finally having Bruce under his hands, skin against skin. Clark wondered idly what he tasted like. Clark licked his lips and flew faster. 

Bruce was having a public birthday party, and Clark was invited because they were well known friends. Whenever there was a legitimate story about Bruce, one that wasn't purely for the tabloids, Clark was the one to write it. He was the only one who was allowed to because he was the only one Bruce trusted. Clark was never cruel, and he never appeared biased. He always wrote the truth, and he always wrote Bruce in a positive light. It was refreshing for Bruce, wonderfully refreshing. 

Clark landed in an alley about a block from the party. He wasn't dressed like goofy reporter Clark Kent tonight, no, tonight he was the real Clark. He wore a dark fitted suit and a blood red tie. His glasses were still perched on his nose, but paired with the seductive smirk curving across his mouth they made him look more threatening than meek. Clark was fully aware of the way he looked when he walked into the manor, and of all the looks he was getting, but he was there with a purpose. A very singular purpose. 

Clark marched his way through the grand ballroom and looked around or said singular purpose. Finally, Bruce was there, spilling his drink all over himself, not swallowing an ounce. Bruce didn't drink much; he didn't care for the taste and he thought being drunk was unnecessary and dangerous. He refused to let himself lose control of his faculties, even if for a moment. The only person he'd ever let himself get drunk around was Clark, but that was a whole other birthday. 

Clark made his way over to Bruce and wrapped his arms around him from behind, pulling Bruce's waist tight against him, and shooting a glare and a snarl at the model crowding for Bruce's attention. She scampered off, martini glass in hand, looking back curiously. Bruce turned and shot Clark a strange look, he was smiling though, which meant he wasn't really mad, more confused. 

"Cave man much? What, is it your time of the month?" He asked. Clark raised an eyebrow and leaned in close.

"No, I'm just feeling adventurous tonight," he whispered, lips brushing Bruce's ear as he spoke. Bruce felt heat flood his cheeks as he pulled back. He'd wanted Clark for years, but he'd never done anything about it. Their lives were too unpredictable, too dangerous. It was pointless to get involved. At least, that was what he'd told himself the first time they'd gotten this close all those years ago. The words were staring to lose their meaning. 

"Clark, what are you doing?" Bruce asked, smile uncertain. Public displays of affection were tricky for Bruce. He had rules that were vital to his image. He'd make a fool of himself in public with another person as long as that person was nothing serious. It wouldn't do for the vapid Prince of Gotham to find himself in a media for something real. Bruce's public and private personas were entirely different people, and this thing with Clark was firmly in the private category.

"I don't know," Clark said. "What do you want me to do?" 

Bruce didn't know how to answer that, but before he could even try, Clark's hands were making their way down towards Bruce's ass. They squeezed hard and Bruce's breath caught in his throat. 

"Not grope me in front of my guests," Bruce bit out, trying to pull away from Clark. He was beginning to become irritated. Clark shoved his nose against Bruce's neck and inhaled.

"Lie," he hissed. Bruce blinked rapidly. Sure, it was a lie, but it wasn't like Clark to go this far, and Bruce began to worry.

"Clark, what's going on?" He asked. Clark looked down at him, his eyes lust drunk, his smile big and sharp, like a shark's.

"I'm finally doing what we both want. I want to fuck you, you want me to fuck you, it's a win for everybody. Now come on, let's get to the bedroom. I need in that ass yesterday," Clark replied, giving said ass a sharp squeeze. Bruce stepped out of Clark's arms and looked around. They were attracting attention, it was hard for Bruce not to attract attention, but they were in the far corner, and his guests were more focused on the drinks on the other side of the ballroom.

"What the hell, Clark?" He snapped. Clark rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Bruce, don't play coy. We both know you're such a fucking bottom, you practically beg people to fuck you."

Bruce shoved Clark away. "I do not," he snarled. He took a deep breath, it wouldn't do to lose control here. This was a party, and more importantly, it was publicity.

Clark sighed, "What, so you'll spread your legs for everybody else, but not for me?" 

Bruce looked like he'd been slapped. He knew then that it wasn't Clark saying those things to him, it couldn't be. Clark was kind, and he cared more about Bruce than almost anyone else in the world, and he'd never even  _dream_ of saying something like this to Bruce. Never. Bruce knew that, and yet there was still a sharp pain in his chest where the humiliation cut deep.

"I'm not sure why you're acting like an ass right now, but I'm going to find out why, and when I do you're going to be sorry." With that Bruce stormed off back into the fray of people. Clark clenched his fists, and growled at a girl who walked by to grab a drink. He turned around and punched a wall, leaving a massive whole in it. The music was loud enough that barely anybody heard, but those who did looked over at him like he'd lost his mind. He hadn't lost his mind, however, no, far from it. He'd found himself again. He had his confidence back, and he wasn't going to leave that damn party without getting Bruce Wayne to sit on his cock.

Clark stalked off in the direction Bruce had gone, and searched the party for him. He found Bruce talking to a couple of older looking business men, and made his way over. He grabbed Bruce's hand and smiled at the men.

"Hey, sorry guy, just need to borrow Bruce for a minute," he said, pulling out his most charming Clark Kent smile. They simply shrugged and moved on to the table of young socialites a few tables over. Clark guessed the half empty glasses of whiskey probably had something to do with that, but probably not everything. He looked down at Bruce, but Bruce was staring at the hand holding his arm. His right hand, Clark realized, the hand with the ring. There was no way Bruce could know what it was, though. Clark had told him about red kryptonite, and it's affect on him, but he hadn't told Bruce that his class ring was made of kryptonite, so there was no way Bruce could possibly know. Clark brushed aside his worry and dragged Bruce off down a dark hallway. 

"Come on, Bruce," Clark said, pinning him to the wall. "Let's get out of here. I'm not taking no for an answer," he warned. Bruce grinned slyly at him. There was a sultry look to his half lidded eyes, and he arched his back, pelvis thrusting forward. 

"Please, let's get out of here," he said. Clark sucked a bruise onto his neck and Bruce practically  _moaned_. 

"Mmm, with pleasure," Clark hummed. He grabbed Bruce's wrist once again and pulled him off in the direction of the stairs. They made their way through the house, and finally to Bruce's bedroom. Bruce wrapped his arms around Clark's neck and pulled him into a kiss. Clark moaned, and shoved his tongue down Bruce's throat. 

"I'm going to fuck you now," Clark said. Bruce grinned.

"Go for it, Superman," he said. Clark felt himself smirk slowly, adrenaline spiking. Something about hearing Bruce call him Superman really got him hot. Clark shoved Bruce down onto the bed, and crawled on top of him. He planted his knees on either side of Bruce's hips and kissed him hard and filthy. He entwined his fingers with Bruce's and moved them up and away toward the top of the bed, intending to pin them there. Before he could, however, Bruce's fingers skillfully maneuvered the ring off of Clark's finger. Then he shoved Clark away from him and threw the ring in the drawer of his bedside table. He shut the drawer and glared down at Clark.

As the anger and confidence slowly started to leak out of Clark, he began to realize the full weight of what he'd done. It was like he'd been dunked in a bucket of ice water. He couldn't believe what he'd said. He'd practically called Bruce a slut, and he'd pursued him without taking no for an answer. He'd actually been about to fuck Bruce into the mattress.

"Oh, God," he said, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and wiping away all evidence of their kiss.

Bruce just crossed his arms and glared at him.

"Oh, God, Bruce, I'm so sorry," Clark said. His voice sounded wrecked and devastated, much like his peace of mind.

"I can't believe you put that stupid ring back on," Bruce snapped. "What the hell convinced you to do that?"

Clark's brows furrowed.

"Wait, you're not mad about what I did? What I said?" 

"Oh no, I haven't even started about your attitude tonight. Don't make any mistake here, I'm furious," his eyes glowered, the usually pale blue replaced with a fiery gray, "but what I really want to know is why the hell you have that thing in the first place?" Bruce snarled. Clark could practically see the smoke billowing from his ears. His face was flushed, from arousal or embarrassment or both, Clark couldn't tell. The only thing he knew for sure was that he'd be paying for this for a long, long time.

"Ma, she found the ring in a box of my old stuff, she handed it to me before I realized what it was. By the time it was in my hand it was too late, I just put it on. I couldn't help it."

Bruce sighed and rubbed his eyes. 

"I think it's time for you to go," he said. 

"Bruce-"

"No, I- I'm mad at you right now, and I still need to go down there and play playboy for another couple of hours, and I can't do that if you're sitting there in the corner giving me puppy dog eyes. Go home, Clark. I'll talk to you later." Bruce turned his back on Clark without even waiting for a reply, and walked out the door. Clark debated whether or not he should follow, but figured Bruce was probably right. These birthday parties were a very delicate matter. They were a rouse to keep people from thinking there was anything special about Wayne Manor, anything that they couldn't see. The purpose of the parties was to solidify Bruce's position as idiot playboy, and thus they were very tedious and tiring. Bruce had asked Clark to come in order to have a reprieve from the exhausting work, someone safe that he could rely one. To have somebody to talk to who knew that Bruce was more than just a pretty face and a half empty brain. Clark had messed up, big time. He was supposed to be Bruce's crutch tonight, his backup. Instead he'd just been a wreck. 

Clark made his way to the window, and flew home.

He left the ring in Bruce's bedside table, it was safer with him anyway. 

\---

The next morning Clark flew back to the manor, intent on making things right before they blew out of proportion. Alfred looked up from the batter he was mixing to see Clark fly through the kitchen window with a sheepish smile, and a present in his hand. Alfred didn't even blink.

"Master Bruce is still asleep, but I was just about to wake him anyway," he said. 

"Thanks, Alfred."

"Yes, and Master Clark?"

"Yes, Alfred?" 

"Hurt him again and I shall line every entrance to this building with kryptonite," Alfred said, never pausing in stirring his batter. Clark swallowed hard. Alfred's heartbeat was steady, he wasn't lying. 

"Right," Clark said. He was not ashamed to admit that he more or less turned tail and ran to Bruce's room.

He knocked on the door when he got there, and kept knocking until he heard a long suffering, "Come in," from inside. Bruce was lying in his bed, nothing but a person sized lump under the covers. Clark set his present down on the bedside table, the same bedside table he was sure no longer housed the red kryptonite ring, and sat on Bruce's bedside. He gently shook Bruce's shoulder. 

"Bruce," he whispered, "Bruce." 

Bruce eyes opened suddenly; they peeked out from a crack between his pillow and his blankets, and he slowly unfurled himself from his blanket cocoon. He laid on his back and stretched his arms, yawning a little, before looking up at Clark. He was shirtless and sleep soft, his hair mussed and with pillow marks on his cheek.

"Back so soon?" He asked, tone startlingly icy. Clark felt his face heat. 

"Yeah, uh, I was awful last night. Everything I said, everything I did, it was inexcusable. Last night I was everything Lex Luthor makes me out to be, a monster, a nightmare, a danger to society," Clark looked down. "A danger to you, and that's the last thing I want to be. If I ever hurt you, well, I'd probably throw myself into a red sun if I ever hurt you." 

Bruce's lips thinned, but he reached out to intertwine his fingers with Clark's. 

"I know," he said. It was like a weight had been lifted off Clark's shoulders. He couldn't stand the idea of Bruce thinking that Clark would ever actually hurt him on purpose.

"I'm still mad," Bruce started. "But I know what that stuff does to you, and it wasn't your fault. Besides, I've thought of the perfect punishment already."

"Really?" Clark asked warily. 

"Yes. Will you go out with me?" He asked, expression stoic and impassive. Clark startled, and stared down incredulously and warily down at Bruce. This couldn't be what it sounded like, the man was a master of manipulation.

"I-" Clark paused, thinking through his answer. This was a trick, he knew it, "Yes?" He asked. Bruce looked unimpressed.

"Great. Now that we're dating I get to withhold sex from you for being an ass," and suddenly his smile was brighter than the sun. Ah, that made more sense. "Congratulations Clark, you've managed to start a relationship in the dog house. I truly don't know how you do it." 

Clark sighed and shrugged. "Practice," he answered sheepishly. Bruce laughed delightedly, eyes bright. Clark couldn't even be mad about his 'punishment.' Not when Bruce was lying there, laughing like he hadn't a care in the world. Clark shook his head, but smiled. 

"I brought you something," he said. Bruce leaned back in his bed.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it's what I was actually looking for when Ma found the ring. I was going to bring it last night, it's your birthday present." Clark reached over to the bedside table and handed Bruce the thin, poorly wrapped package. The wrapping paper was blue with little red Superman symbols decorating it. Bruce snorted a laugh, but he removed the paper with precision, careful not to rip it. When he'd finally pulled it all away he stared down at the present. It was the picture Clark had found of them playing baseball. He'd put it in the red and blue frame he'd bought earlier in the week. Bruce smiled softly at the picture. He hugged it close to his chest and finally sat up, just so he could pull Clark into a hug.

"Thank you, Clark," he whispered. "It's perfect." 

Clark pretended not to feel the smile pressed against the soft cotton of his t-shirt covered his chest, and instead wondered why he'd ever bothered with buying Bruce presents to begin with. None of them had given him the smile this one had, none of them had given him the joy this one had. 

"I'm glad you like it," Clark whispered back. Bruce pulled away, smile still gracing his sleep soft features.

"Stay for breakfast," he said suddenly. "Alfred's making eggs benedict." 

Clark snorted, "Of course he is."

Bruce laughed and finally stood from the bed. The sheets pulled away from his hips revealing his nude form. Bruce had been sleeping naked. Clark felt his mouth go dry, and suddenly realized the full extent of his punishment. He watched as Bruce pulled sweatpants over shapely hips and a round ass, and swallowed hard. 

"Come on, Superman, time for the breakfast of champions." 

Clark trailed after Bruce like a lost puppy, completely unbothered by the rest of the world. At some point they'd have to talk about what Clark had said, but that could wait for another day. For now there were eggs benedict, and Bruce going commando. 


End file.
